


illusive eyes (kept pulling me into your illusion)

by brokentombstone



Series: intentions of gold (with my plans) [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 8x05 AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Smart Starks, political jon and sansa, pt. 1 lol because i had to split 8x05 into 2 parts, season 8 AU, yes together as in they are being political together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:28:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26487934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokentombstone/pseuds/brokentombstone
Summary: Daenerys nods. It all fits together. She doesn’t need to question if it is true, she can feel it. She may have doubted Jon in the past, but not with this. Not when something deep within her tells her that she has been waiting for this moment.--The Dragon Queen faces her final betrayal. Sansa and Cersei play a waiting game. Arya has other plans.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Series: intentions of gold (with my plans) [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1668775
Comments: 52
Kudos: 183





	illusive eyes (kept pulling me into your illusion)

**Author's Note:**

> Oh I am finally back with another part, i'll save my thoughts for the end, however I am really happy with how this turned out. for now, as always I recommend you read the other parts first :)

Daenerys wants to storm the city. It is maybe the only thing she stays rooted on after the fallout from their meeting with Cersei Lannister. It boils Arya’s blood and she doesn’t think she can take it much longer, everyday they debate is another where Cersei could snap and break her sister’s neck. 

Jon isn’t faring much better, when Arya glimpses him. His expression is schooled into one of desperate concentration, as if he is trying to not hear the words Daenerys and her advisors speak. It is late and the winds howl outside their firelit room. A bone deep chill is ever present now and Arya can see that everyone at the table shivers, if minutely. It seems the fire of the dragon is not enough to warm them in the storm. 

Arya’s attention snaps back to Jon when he speaks abruptly, cutting across the squabbling of Daenerys, Tyrion,Varys, and Grey Worm.

“Have you not considered simply bending the knee as Cersei demanded?” Jon’s voice booms, exhaustion pouring into every word. 

The room quiets at once. Brienne and Davos look to him as if he has lost his mind. Podrick’s eyes are wide in shock at his outburst. Tormund grins something wicked. Grey Worm actually looks to be in reluctant agreement. Both Tyrion and Varys are watching and calculating between Jon and Daenerys. Arya observes them all, she notices that it is what Sandor Clegane does as well, watches in silent observation. (The only one she doesn’t look at is Gendry, though she feels him trying to get her attention, she prefers to leave those distractions out of their meetings about her sister’s life). 

Arya’s eyes eventually settle and they stay on Daenerys. The  _ Queen _ , for all her glories and riches, looks as poor as a peasant woman. She appears to have aged five years in five days. Bags under her eyes, her skin is sallow. She is wrapped in fraying cloth instead of her usual regal robes and jackets. Her hair is loose, unbraided and in quite the disarray. She is coming apart at the seams and everyone knows it. Her fury at their position shifts on to Jon and Arya watches it come as the fire within is stoked, slowly but surely rising to the surface. Some heat gathers in her washed out cheeks. She looks more alive than she has in some time. 

Jon’s gaze is unwavering though and Arya cannot blame him. They have only two days left to meet Cersei’s terms. Arya knows her plans if things are not resolved tonight, she cannot afford to wait any longer.

A great crack of lightning flashes and thunder crashes before Daenerys speaks. 

“You expect me to give up my  _ claim  _ to the Iron Throne? My birthright? To a usurper? To Cersei Lannister? She has  _ no  _ right.”

Daenerys, while she looks brittle, does not let any weakness in her tone. It commands everyone’s attention. 

Jon only lets out a sigh. 

“We talk in circles all day and night, plotting and scheming. But we all know the only way to secure Sansa and Missandei’s lives is to comply with Cersei's wishes. If we do anything else she will have them killed,” Jon says and deflates. He pinches the bridge of his nose.

Daenerys’ anger does not dissipate though. 

“And in my surrender I would only open up the door for other claimants? For more usurpers to come and steal from me, have you not thought of that?” 

It is an accusation and her words cut. Arya grips her Needle under the table. The energy shifts in the room.

Jon looks at her in disbelief. Her words are questionable at best and half the room seems confused.

In the chaos Arya looks at those who matter most. Varys, for his part, remains impassive, if not lit up with a slight curiosity trained on the Dragon Queen. He is a master of this, of these deceptions. Arya suddenly wishes Sansa was here with them, her own skill would be formidable to have on their side. 

It’s Tyrion who squirms. And it makes Arya scream with glee internally. She hopes that Daenerys notes his discomfort. Because for all Daenerys knows the only people in the room who know of Jon’s claim other than herself are Jon and Arya. Tyrion though was caught off guard and his expression slipped. 

(Arya thinks now of the trap that Varys is on his way to laying, on his shifting allegiances and on the plan that Jon has told her about, the one that Varys told him in utmost secrecy. She doesn’t know if they can trust him, the Spider. Another reason she aches for her sister. She would know, would understand Varys’ motivations. But Arya, all she knows is that he once kept close with Littlefinger and that they were adversaries too. So, is he more or less like the man that they banded together to defeat? Only time will tell, and Arya hopes that they are out of harm’s way before Varys can hope to turn on them, if that is his intent). 

Jon finally responds to Daenerys’ hidden accusation. 

“All I think of, all I  _ can  _ think of is how to get those we love out of Cersei’s clutches. I imagine much the same sentiment is on your mind, Your Grace.”

Ah, there is that deference, Arya thinks. Jon is getting better at this, at the subtlety of manipulation. The words fall almost naturally from his lips. And she supposes they all are, better at this that is, they have to be if they hope to survive. It is then that Arya has a thought, what she hopes is a clever one and so she interrupts before Daenerys can respond to Jon. 

“I think, Your Grace, that my brother is eager for the same things as you. But perhaps he is too noble,” Arya flashes her teeth, she hopes they glint in the dark room. Maybe it will signify to Daenerys that they are co-conspirators of a sort. The two have had little to do with each other but Daenerys’ eyes are only on Arya now, so she makes the most of the attention.

“What I mean to say is that Cersei needs to only  _ think _ that you are surrendering. Once we have Missandei and Sansa back, what is to stop you from attacking with your dragons then?” Arya’s eyes dance and she sees the fires reflecting in Daenerys’.

Tyrion heaves a sigh, “Cersei is clever. She will have thought of this. She will have a hundred other schemes in the works to disable Daenerys’ dragons, we already know they have the tools to pierce a dragon’s skin. It is only a matter of rebuilding and assembling multiple crossbows.”

Tyrion’s right, Arya thinks. The dragons are Daenerys’ most obvious advantage and taking them out should be everyone’s most pressing concern.

“Quiet Tyrion!” Daenerys says and Arya can tell that Daenerys’ is already seeing the future in her mind, Missandei back and then storming the city with dragonfire, “I like the way Lady Stark thinks. You are all dismissed, I will think about it and we will plan for tomorrow.”

She honours Arya’s position in a way she never could for Sansa but Arya’s nose wrinkles at the words. If the Dragon Queen knew her she would know she scorns the title. Arya only gives her a clipped smile and nods. She shuffles out of the room with everyone else, leaving Daenerys alone to think about her course of action.

In the hall she notices Jon and Varys disappearing the same way and knows she should follow but someone grips her arm. 

“Since when do you tell Daenerys what she should do?” Gendry, his voice teasing as he pulls her to face him.

Arya lets out a laugh. It feels good, to be with Gendry and to not have to define this thing between them. She had followed Sansa’s advice, she had found him and hadn’t let him go far since. But they both tiptoe around any serious topics. Considering the complexity of their situations they need some levity. 

“I merely suggested what I thought Sansa might in my position but I’m sure she would’ve been more clever about it,” Arya rolls her eyes. 

Gendry gives his head an amused shake and he leans in to kiss her, the hall now empty of bodies but Arya turns away from him. 

“I have business to attend to tonight,” she pecks his cheek instead and slips out of his grasp. 

She can practically hear his internal groan but still his voice surprises her. 

“Arya wait,” He calls when she’s already half disappearing down the hall.

She halts. 

“I know something is happening. I know you haven’t told me all you plan, and I understand your reasons for it. But promise me whatever happens you’ll let me know before it does. Don’t just disappear on me,” Gendry’s voice breaks on the last words.

Arya watches him, half cloaked in darkness and shrinking in a bit on himself.

“I promise,” Arya says. Her voice is quiet. 

As she slides into the darkness, she finds she means it. 

* * *

“Tonight?” Jon asks, a slick sweat breaking out on his brow at the sudden implication. 

He is seated across from Varys in a disused room. Only a few candles light the space. Jon finds he is growing weary of the dark, of the secrets that hide themselves so seamlessly in the shadows. He is used to the wide open expanse of pure white snow fields. He always feels unfooted here. 

“The sooner the better I think, we cannot predict what he will do from here,” Varys’ voice urges but before Jon can respond the door opens. 

“Sooner the better for what, may I ask?”

The voice is one Jon knows well and he finds himself relieved that it is only Arya and not some other intruder. She shuts the door behind her and locks it, giving Jon and Varys an amused look at their oversight. Jon expects the carelessness of himself but usually Varys is more aware. He must truly be worried.

Varys appraises his sister for a few moments and seems to come to the conclusion that Jon has obviously informed her of what their plans are and accepts that this is inevitable and allowable. He inclines his head to an empty chair which Arya takes easily enough. 

“I was telling your brother that I think the time has come for us to go to the Dragon Queen with the story of Tyrion’s treasons,” Varys says.

Arya tenses slightly, her eyes harden almost imperceptibly and flash to Jon’s for only a moment. 

“Why now?” Arya asks, immediately on guard. 

“He knows that the question of lineage is on Daenerys’ mind and he may have his own ideas on how to use that to his advantage. I think we cannot afford for him to act first. It is a precarious position, but if we plead our own innocence we can escape her wrath, take Tyrion off the board and proceed with our plans from there. Tyrion doesn’t like the idea of even pretending to bend the knee to Cersei so that too could present complications…” Varys trails off.

Jon watches Arya take in the information and then she turns to him. They both look at each other and while it doesn’t show on either of their faces, he knows that they both feel well in over their heads. This is not their specialty. But what Varys says makes sense and Tyrion is unpredictable, a danger to all of them going forward. Gods, he wishes Sansa were here, just for a few moments. She would know. 

Varys speaks when neither of them do. 

“You have no reason to trust me but I vow to you that I am not leading you astray. I want Sansa Stark alive, not emotionally as the two of you do but strategically she is essential going forward and I will do what I think is necessary to secure her safety. I do believe that this is the best way. Tyrion’s motivations are selfish and they always have been, it makes him dangerous.”

Arya continues to look at Jon and he thinks he sees resignation there. Whatever gets them Sansa. 

Jon nods.

“We will do it, the sooner the better.”

Jon prays to the old gods and the new that he is not fucking over any remaining hope that they have.

* * *

Daenerys overlooks the churning sea as the storm rages on. It feels to her as if this is the longest night of her life.  _ Stormborn.  _ The word echoes over and over in her mind, she was born of the storm and to the storm she will return. 

The she-wolf, Arya Stark, her words, her easy deceptions that she laid out, they turn in Daenerys’ mind. She is nearly made up in her course. While she laments even thinking about trusting the Starks she cannot deny that if she takes any other course that Missandei’s life will be forfeit. 

Grey Worm will be happy. He fears losing her and she fears losing him if she lets Missandei perish. What type of Queen does that make her? More fearful about losing Grey Worm and his armies than her dearest friend. Because yes, she had promised Cersei’s end would come for this, sworn to get Missandei back. But the longer she was separated from Missandei the more the idea of ever having her again seemed impossible. And if she couldn’t save Missandei the least she could do would be to avenge her killer. 

It eats away at her. The dilemma of what is right and what is just. She’d let her fears get the better of her when she had lashed out at Jon. His claim… It frightens her. Sometimes at night she paces, wondering if it has all been but a lie she told herself and let others feed into. The last dragon. When another Targaryen has lived all this time, a bastard born to be sure but… of the dragon’s blood all the same. 

Maybe if he wasn’t a man she wouldn’t fear his lesser claim having any foothold. Maybe if she hadn’t come to love him and then learned to hate him just as easily. A million maybes and only a few more days to decide on her course of action.

She does not expect it when the knock comes, few dare to disturb her once she has asked for solitude. She half assumes that it is Tyrion, always toeing the line and drawing her close to the edge. 

But when she calls for her visitor to come in and the door swings inward, there stands only an unlikely trio. 

Jon, Arya, and Varys. They look as if someone has died and she nearly screeches some half garbled nonsense about Cersei Lannister going back on her word. But then she notices something more. They seem to reek, of guilt. They look shameful, the three of them and it gives her pause.

She tilts her chin up and they come in, moving like a funeral procession. They draw their chairs slowly and Daenerys waits, not very patiently. 

Arya looks to the ground and Jon to the window where the rain beats down hard. Daenerys watches these wolves, they seem smaller somehow, with their strange brother in the North miles away and their leader, their Red Wolf,  _ Lady Sansa Stark,  _ all but lost to them. 

“Your Grace,” Varys begins slowly, “I must apologize to disturb you, but it is of the greatest importance.”

“Of course, whatever is the problem Varys?” Daenerys asks, genuine concern seeps in, she’s never seen him so grave. 

“Jon came to me right when he heard, you have to understand…. He could believe it of Tyrion but not of me, he only waited in coming to you because he needed to know if there were one or two traitors in his midst.”

Daenerys' head throbs with confusion, she isn’t registering the words and it must show on her face because Jon cuts in. 

“Tyrion approached me, after the meeting this evening. He has a plan. He wishes to overthrow you and replace you with myself. He says he overheard us talking back in Winterfell… He knows of my birth Daenerys,” Jon’s words tumble out.

Daenerys blinks. Her body turns to ice, she doesn’t think she could move if she wanted to.

Varys continues gently, “He says that there has never been a witness to Jon bending the knee to you. It is an old Westerosi custom but as Jon was laid up in bed, some might not find the pledge binding if Tyrion pressed it. He claimed he had me on his side of this scheme but when Jon confronted me I was just as surprised as him. I knew none of this until he found me, though I expect Tyrion intended to approach me soon with his treachery.”

Daenerys feels light headed as if she might throw up. It makes sense. Too much sense. Tyrion. She has doubted him for so long now, though he has always snuck his way back by her side. All this time he was looking for some way to betray her. She should have known.

Her mind flashes suddenly to Tyrion’s private conversation with Cersei at the Dragonpit. His vague recollection of their conversation, nothing concrete. He has likely been working with her the entire time. And now he works to pit herself and Jon against each other, using the friction between them to drive the wedge deeper.

The betrayal stings, it cut deeps and she knows it will leave a lasting mark. But she puts it aside for now, she must focus. Must turn her mind to the task at hand.  _ Be a dragon.  _ Olenna Tyrell’s words echo in her mind. 

Daenerys looks between them all and then she shakes her head in confusion. 

“And Arya?” She rasps out, her first words since they revealed this breach in her Hand. 

Arya looks nervously at Jon and Daenerys sees her then as a girl, not as a blade as she had previously thought. But still just a girl, misused and hardened yes, but someone who still looks to Jon for comfort.

“Arya was in the other room of my chambers when Tyrion came in, she overheard everything but didn’t reveal herself to him,” Jon explains quickly. 

Daenerys nods. It all fits together. She doesn’t need to question if it is true, she can feel it. She may have doubted Jon in the past, but not with this. Not when something deep within her tells her that she has been waiting for this moment, waiting for Tyrion’s betrayal. The final betrayal, the last one standing between her and the throne. With that thought there is a cold relief, she will overcome this. They are one step ahead of him.

“Fetch Tyrion and meet me at the shores,” Daenerys commands. 

She sweeps from the rooms, her mind only on her dragons now.

* * *

Arya had been shocked at how easy it had been. They had talked for the better part of an hour, the three of them, on how to convince Daenerys of their tale. But in the end it had been for nothing. It seemed that the Dragon Queen was just too eager to see enemies in everyone around her. 

She was back in her element now, redressed and hair done back in elaborate braids. She looks all the fearsome Queen she was said to be. 

Varys had got guards to bring Tyrion down to the shores so Arya knows not if he fought. She thinks not, knowing that he would be no match for the Unsullied. The only other person Daenreys had allowed into their group was Grey Worm. But Jon had told her that the others should witness, to see what happens to those who dare go against her. In truth, Jon wanted anyone who might be in doubt to see Daenerys for what she really was. 

It was why the others had gathered: Davos, Podrick, Brienne, Tormund, the Hound, and Gendry even though Arya wished he would stay away. They stand in the wind as it whips violently, the rain has mercifully stopped. 

It seems so quick Arya thinks, the effort had been so minimal. And it makes her realize how dangerous Daenerys is, how changeable she is if she thinks it suits her needs. 

She stands as far back as she can, she does not wish to see this. Gendry has found her and his arm sits on her shoulder, barely there but supportive nonetheless. She’s thankful for his presence all at once, for the normalcy she finds in him. 

Tyrion is tied up, restraints seem unnecessary but Daenerys obviously enjoys shows of power. Jon is closer to the front of the group and Arya can see him grimace at Tyrion, knowing that they caused this, that there are some things that will stay with them for all their years. This is that type of thing, no matter what Tyrion’s faults were, they condemned him with a lie. Now they would live with that. 

“Daenerys please—” Tyrion begs her. 

It is not the first plea that he has given but it is the first that Daenerys acknowledges. She seems ready to proceed finally. 

“You have been accused, Tyrion of House Lannister, of great treason against the crown. You plot to overthrow me behind my back. To raise up Jon Snow in my place, but Jon is loyal to me, he has told me of your treachery,” Daenerys says, her voice low and almost bored. She has already made her decision. 

Tyrion sputters, confusion flitters across his face but then he comes to some twisted realization and his eyes land on Varys. 

“Your Grace, I swear to you, it is not I. It was Varys, Varys is the one who plots your demise. You have to listen to me Daenerys, please–”

“Enough.”

Daenerys silences him with one word but his face is haunted, he seems to know he has lost. Tyrion sets his jaw and what comes next isn’t something even Arya expected. Though she imagines if Sansa were here she would have.

Tyrion turns his head away to Daenerys, to the crowd gathered here. 

“Daenerys doesn’t stand next in line to the throne! It is not her but Jon Snow. She is a fraud, Jon is not a son of Eddard Stark but was born from the union of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen!” Tyrion is desperate and confusion sweeps over the rest of the crowd as they put together the pieces. 

Gendry gazes down at Arya and she gives a quiet nod. 

Daenerys however does not flinch. 

“That does not make Jon the heir to the Iron Throne, he is still a bastard,” Daenerys says, assured in her place.

Tyrion speaks again. 

His eyes light with something devious, his grin twists. Arya realizes a second too late. 

“Oh you don’t know the best part my Queen! He kept it even from you, but Rhaegar annulled his marriage to Elia Martell, he had a septon marry him to Lyanna Stark in secret. Jon Snow is the heir to the Iron Throne!”

Tyrion cackles in the storm, he has come undone. He knows the end is near and his laugh dies in the wind. 

It would be silent but for that very wind. Daenerys is rigid. She doesn’t look away from Tyrion and nobody else dares to speak. Arya is holding her breath, her heart pounds and she clutches at her Needle tighter if she needs it suddenly. Vaguely she feels Gendry’s grip on her shoulder tighten too. She watches Jon’s shoulders, his haunches set. Varys watches without emotion. 

Daenerys takes a step toward Tyrion. 

“You swore to never betray me,” Daenerys’ voice is soft now, but it still carries over the wind, “Yet it seems you have done nothing but.”

Tyrion withers and Daenerys seems to grow, alive only in her power, only in her own grandiose image. 

_ “Dracarys” _

The heat comes first, and Arya has to work to not move. As if from nowhere flames come down on Tyrion. Drogon had been lurking, hidden in the darkness. Waiting his master’s command. And Tyrion burns, the smell of his flesh. It sickens her. Gendry shakes beside her and she sees disgust on Jon’s face, aglow in the flames but he looks to the ground as if he is about to be sick. 

She catches one look at Daenerys though and she basks in the glory of this unbridled chaos, in the untamed fury of dragon fire. It isn’t new to Daenerys but the mesmerizing effect doesn’t seem to have worn off. 

The flames dwindle and with them dies one more Lannister sibling. Arya realizes that only one remains. (Best for last, she thinks to herself). Daenerys turns to the rest of them. 

“Leave me.”

It is a command, plain and simple. Everyone slowly regains use of their muscles and makes to walk back up the beach. 

“Not you Jon.”

The words send a jolt through Arya’s spine, she stumbles and doesn’t move. Gendry grips her arm and keeps her upright. 

“Arya we can’t—”

Arya grabs him then and pulls him forward. She doubles back, quickly in the dark and pulls him with her. She finds a spot for them behind a rock cut, Daenerys cannot see them there but they can see her with Jon. The rest of the beach is deserted now.

Daenerys and Jon stand ten feet apart. 

“Is it true?”

Daenerys’ voice trembles, all the bravado from before is gone. She is a shell of herself, back to the woman with her braids undone and no proper clothes despite still donning the dress of a Queen. Her lips quiver. 

_ Lie,  _ Arya thinks, she feels as if she shouts it in her mind at Jon.  _ Lie.  _

But Jon has never been a great liar, he can deceive, but when asked something so outright, he shows it on his face. And he doesn’t say a word but Arya can tell by the look in Daenerys’ eyes that she knows the truth of it. 

Daenerys takes a few steps towards Jon. She could reach out and touch him now if she wanted.  _ Too close. _ Arya still grips her Needle. 

“I need you as my ally, Jon  _ Snow.  _ I need your men when we storm the city. But when all of this is over, I swear to you we will deal with the issue of your birth.”

There’s a grist to Daenerys’ words that Arya hasn’t heard before, a resolve that makes even Arya nervous. It’s why she doesn’t register the words at first, and apparently it takes Jon a few seconds as well. 

“Storm the city?”

Daenerys lets out a shrill laugh, there is no warmth in it. 

“You think I will go through with whatever plan we had concocted before? For all I know Tyrion sent his sister a letter detailing the entire endeavour. No. We will storm the city, the day after next and the last day before Cersei’s deal expires.”

Arya gulps and she feels Gendry grip her shoulders, restraining her from doing something reckless. She fears she needs it. 

She wants to hug Jon, he looks broken down and on the brink of collapse, as if all the air has gone out of him. 

“So that’s it? Just like that I’m your prisoner again.”

It’s not a question but a statement. Daenerys raises one eyebrow at him. 

“Were you ever not?”

Daenerys turns from him and disappears into the night. It takes Arya a few seconds to realize she can move now. Before she reaches Jon he goes to his knees right there in the sand. His head hangs, and tears of defeat leak down, mixing with the rain that has come back in time to put out the last of the dying dragon flames on Tyrion’s pyre. 

Arya reaches him and kneels down. She hears Gendry stop a few feet away from them, giving them their space. 

Arya says the only thing she can think of to help. 

“I’ll go tonight.”

* * *

In the days since Sansa was hung from the wall by the Mountain, nothing much had happened. She had been confined to her quarters with Missandei. They were fed a few times a day. They were allowed to bathe every other day. But Sansa knew their time dwindled.

It was out of their hands. 

Cersei had arranged things so that they had no contact with anyone, a serving girl, different every time brought their meal and took the previous tray. They were in the room for all of thirty seconds. They never spoke, even if Sansa tried to engage them. There was nothing she could do to gain any allies, to make a move to gain the upper hand. 

The only other person she had seen was Qyburn. He came and escorted her to his chambers once a day to tend and care for her wound, to make sure that it was healing. At first she had been hesitant. Being alone with this strange man and having him tend to her wound was not comfortable. But Qyburn was a strange man, he almost didn’t seem like a man at all. As if he existed outside of earthly constraints. 

But Sansa knew better than to try and convince him of her cause. He was unwaveringly loyal to Cersei, everyone knew this and Sansa knew it would be folly to make even an attempt. It would likely make her death only more certain. 

In truth Qyburn talked little. Sometimes he muttered to himself or made some comment about their plans going forward, nothing much at all. But he seemed happy with Sansa’s wound progression and that alleviated any stress she had about the wound. If she managed to make it out of the city, which she doubted at this point, at least she would keep her leg. 

For the moment Sansa lays on the bed. It is early in the evening but she wishes sleep would take her. Missandei sits by the fire. Both of them have grown increasingly more irritable as the days stretched on. This would be the end of their fifth day. Two more and they were likely to die. 

Sansa didn’t want to dwell, she wanted to believe. She wanted more than anything to be the naive girl she once was with stars in her eyes but she knew. She knew that the likely course of action would result in their death. It is even the logical action, two deaths and Daenerys is free to storm the city, free to take what she believes to be hers by force. It is not something that Sansa can find it in herself to begrudge the woman. A part of her understands. She doesn't know if she herself could force herself down onto her knees if Cersei demanded it. 

And then, with sudden ferocity she hadn’t known to expect, she is thinking of Jon. 

Oh, how foolish they had been. How presumptuous, they thought they had everything planned out. They were three steps ahead of Daenerys but Sansa had let herself forget their enemy to the South and it had all gone up in smoke. So quickly it tumbled down. But if Sansa closes her eyes she can still feel Jon’s lips pressed to her own. Their bodies moving in tandem, the heat in the small room. Not enough and too much all at once.

They’d had that one perfect moment. The moment where they had known each other, known the truth in their hearts and the devotion that they’d been so afraid to voice.

Unbidden, a tear slides down Sansa’s cheek. Missandei is still across the room and doesn’t notice. But just then the door opens. 

A small serving girl, one Sansa recognizes from several meals ago stands there, and behind her looming in the doorway, the Mountain. 

“Queen Cersei requests your presence in her chambers Lady Sansa,” the girl’s voice trembles as if she fears one wrong word will end her life. 

Sansa thinks it very well could. 

Missandei finds her eyes first and they look at each other in fear. This is unexpected. They haven’t seen Cersei at all since the meeting. In truth Sansa had found it anticlimactic. She had had so little to do with her hostages, she was expecting more confrontation, more taunting. 

But now, having to be separated from Missandei, the one constant in her life these last few weeks. Sansa feels her resolve shatter. Missandei gives her a burning look, it seems to say  _ I believe in you, forget not, you have the wolf blood in your veins.  _

Sansa sits up on the bed and then stands. She sets her shoulders and smooths her skirts. She gives Missandei a brief nod, a silent thanks for her support. And oh, she hopes this isn’t the last time she sees the other woman. She doesn’t think she could recover if it was. 

Sansa follows the girl out of the room and the Mountain lumbers along behind them. It is uncomfortable. The castle feels gloomy and in a state of disuse. Soon enough they arrive in Cersei’s wing though and it feels a bit more lived in, a bit brighter. 

The girl and the Mountain just look at Sansa expectantly and nod at the door. Sansa braces herself and then enters.

The scene before her is not one she could have predicted in a thousand years. 

Cersei’s room is covered in a warm amber glow, the fire flickers in the corner and there are several candles. But Cersei herself. She sits at a long table in the middle of the room and Sansa can tell instantly that something is off. She isn’t even looking at the door. She grips her wine glass as if she needs it to stay vertical. 

It’s obvious that she had been crying. Her eyes are puffy, her face is red. She’s come undone and Sansa doesn’t think she’s ever seen her so unguarded. She takes a few hesitant steps towards her and when Cersei doesn’t react she takes a seat across from her. 

They sit in silence for several minutes, Cersei sips at her wine and stares across the room at the fire. Sansa doesn’t speak, she knows Cersei will have brought her here for a reason and that she will talk in her own time.

Sansa is looking around the room when she does. She’s reflecting on how the room seems void of any personal touches, other than Cersei’s wine the room seems barren. 

“Jaime’s dead.”

Sansa freezes. Cersei’s voice is hoarse and Sansa is suddenly afraid to look at her. She assumes Jaime died in the battle, that or else he was sentenced to death by Daenerys for trying to reach Cersei. Both are plausible enough, though she doesn’t know what would be worse for Cersei. 

She turns to look at Cersei eventually and is surprised to not see anger in her eyes but instead defeat. For a few seconds Sansa feels anguish, it’s misplaced and she cannot understand any feeling of sympathy for a woman as wretched as this. 

But she can empathize with losing all that is dear to you. Cersei’s parents are dead, her children all gone, and now Jaime. She’s surprised she is keeping it together as much as she is. 

Cersei shakes her head and gives her eyes a roll. 

“I don’t even know why I called you here. I thought maybe–stupid really. I guess I wanted company and nobody else in this damn castle knows the first thing about me.”

Cersei takes a long drink of her wine and Sansa continues to study her. She can tell the alcohol is affecting Cersei. How sad, to have to go to your enemy, a girl you tormented for years for comfort. Cersei has lost everything and Sansa thinks it won’t be long now until she loses herself, one way or another. 

“Jaime always said we would go out of the world as we came in, together. But here he’s dead, miles from me and I am cursed to keep living, to keep fighting. The price we pay…” Cersei trails off, clearly lost in her memories. 

“I understand your pain Cersei. I’ve lost two brothers myself,” Sansa says finally and she is surprised by the sincerity in her voice. 

Cersei’s face flickers from shock and then surprisingly, a smug grin.

“Not the one who really matters though right?” Cersei says and swirls her wine, “He lives.”

Something twists in Sansa’s gut, she tries to stop heat from rising to her cheeks. She doesn’t know what Cersei thinks she knows but she doesn’t want to give her any sort of ammunition. Cersei’s expression doesn’t falter. 

“You love him don’t you?”

The words ring in Sansa’s ears. Cersei was always too perceptive for her own good. And right now she looks at Sansa with that all too knowing glint in her eyes and Sansa feels like the little twelve year old girl again, at the mercy of Cersei Lannister. 

Sansa’s silence must speak for itself because it seems to egg Cersei on. 

“You haven’t changed as much as I thought Little Bird. You think life is a pretty song and your brother-lover is going to come swooping in to save you? I thought my Joffrey would have taught you better than that. Take it from me, Jon will only disappoint you like Jaime has me.”

Cersei’s voice is unbearably bitter and something in Sansa snaps. She isn’t the little girl she once was and Cersei doesn’t know what she’s talking about. 

“Jon is  _ nothing  _ like Jaime. You don’t know him and you don’t know me, not anymore Cersei!” Sansa stands up and her chair scratches on the floor, her chest is heaving, “All the happiness in your life is gone Cersei but it doesn’t mean that mine is, I made it out of King’s Landing. I found my family and people who love me and so you can have all your resentments. They mean nothing to me.”

Sansa stands there, half expecting for Cersei to stand up and slap her for her insolence. She’s still breathing heavy but Cersei is just watching her. 

“You made it out of King’s Landing, it’s true. But you didn’t make it out of the great game did you? You’re right in the thick of it. And I would wager that even if Jon makes it here before I have you killed then you will be left to deal with the fire that is Daenerys and she won’t want either of you around long if she realizes what is between you.”

That silences Sansa again. Damn Cersei, damn her and her incessant need to see things for how they are.

Cersei pours herself another glass of wine. 

“Go back to your cage Little Bird. Enjoy it while you still can.”

Cersei turns away from her and it’s a clear dismissal but Sansa watches her a few more seconds before she turns to leave. Cersei Lannister, the Lioness of the Rock. Robert Baratheon’s Queen, mother to Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen. Perhaps most defining of all, the lover of Jaime. All Sansa feels for her now is pity.

* * *

It happened quickly after Arya had whispered the words into Jon’s ear and he knew they had to. With Daenerys’ decision to storm the city looming over them Jon knew it was the right course of action and he and Arya had planned for this eventuality. It did not mean that Jon liked the decision. 

They stole away, back to the castle and avoided Daenerys, all her people. He’d left Arya whispering with Gendry, he seemed to hang on Arya’s every word, taking in the plan and story all at once. Jon had gathered those they needed, nobody more. And now he stands in an ill-lit room, sending his little sister into the lion’s den while he tries to wrangle the Last Dragon. 

Arya has a small bag, Jon knows she packed it herself and that the tools she has are probably less lady-like than he could ever hope to imagine. She looks like an assassin, it’s not something Jon can ignore any longer. He hopes then that when all this is done that Arya has the chance to heal, the chance to regain some semblance of the innocence they had all lost. 

Jon looks around the room. On his side are Brienne, Podrick, and Tormund, come to say a farewell with him. (It had been a tough thing, convincing Brienne that she couldn’t go after Sansa. That she would be of more service to them here, that the plan was risky enough with three). Davos lingers in the shadows, seemingly unsure of the whole endeavour but willing to see it through anyways. 

On either side of Arya stand two men. Men that Jon may be wary of but that he trusts to look after his sister anyways. Gendry. Robert Baratheon’s bastard. There was something there, that much was obvious from all he had seen and he believed in Gendry’s devotion to her, he refused to let her leave without him. Arya had pushed back but relented in the end. 

Then there was Sandor Clegane.  _ The Hound.  _ Jon didn’t know what he thought of the man. He knew that he was not kind, that he had a fair deal of wickedness in him. But he had protected Arya in the past, even Brienne seemed to acknowledge that. He knew Sansa’s feelings on the man were equally complex, half fear, half gratitude. Either way he had more motivation than most to make sure their plans in King’s Landing went well and had invaluable information about the castle and the city. Jon would have to trust him. 

He looks at Arya then, the time has come. 

“It’ll be okay Jon,” Arya speaks first. 

Jon blinks back tears. Not here. Not now when everything is on the verge of falling apart. Jon nods his head, gives Arya a wry smile. His little sister, braver than the whole lot of them.

“You know I’d trust nobody else to do what you’re about to do Arya,” Jon says, his tone serious. 

There’s a quiet laugh that goes through their audience. But Jon sees something steely glint in Arya’s eyes and he  _ knows  _ that Arya has kept things about her past from them. He knows she’s killed, it’s obvious. But here, in this dark room, with a storm raging. Well she’s never looked more dangerous. She’s never looked less like his sister. 

They’ve barely been able to speak of Sansa recently. Their grief swaths every interaction in heavy shades but Jon thinks he needs the assurance. So he steps forward and envelopes Arya in a tight hug. Away from their audience who all pointedly looks away from their embrace, giving them a few final seconds of privacy, Jon whispers. 

“Bring her home Arya.”

Arya grips him tighter and barely there, right in his ear he hears her breath. 

“For Mother and Father. For Robb. For Rickon. All of them. I swear they won’t take Sansa too.”

And then Arya is disentangling herself and there seems to be a cacophony of noises swallowing Jon up. Everyone is saying goodbye. The three who are leaving are turning out of the room, disappearing into the night and Jon only catches Arya’s eye one last time. It says all he needs to know though.

They’re both very aware of the fact that it’s unlikely they all survive this. Arya’s plan hangs by threads. Jon’s own position with Daenerys dangles over the edge of a cliff. Sansa is quite literally being held captive by her worst enemy. Bran. Bran is safe in Winterfell. And Jon lets that relief wash over him. 

(But what of Bran if he receives ravens telling him the last of his family have perished? What will it mean for the last Stark? Jon doesn’t let himself think about it).

Jon feels a hand on his shoulder. 

“Come on little crow, it’s time to go before the Dragon finds us out of bed and scheming,” it’s Tormund, obviously. His tone is more down trodden than Jon ever remembers hearing it. 

Jon looks at the remaining people in the room with him. 

“I just need a few minutes. Go on without me.”

Tormund grimaces but nods. Brienne and Podrick don’t hesitate, they obey his words like it is a command, like he is their King he realizes. (And he thinks there’s been a shift since that revelation, since Tyrion’s damn need to tell the truth. This might only be the beginning). It’s Davos who lingers in the doorway.

“I’m still betting on you Jon Snow,” Davos says before he turns away.

Jon listens to their footsteps echo away from him. His feet pull him to the one window in the shabby room and he looks out into the rain. It must be deep into the night now. The sun will be up in a few hours, but for now the darkness is total. Pitch. 

And Jon lets himself ache. He closes his eyes and just pictures her. Sansa. He wants nothing more than to be the one chasing after her. But he had never entertained it. He knew, he knew the game well enough now to know his place was here, beside the Dragon Queen. No matter how much he loathed it, this was his duty. Temper her, appease her, pacify her, and hope that everything else works itself out. He doesn’t know yet what they will do when she storms the city. 

He knows enough to realize that Jon will be expected to ride Rhaegal again. The thought chills him. But something unfurls in his mind. Accidents happen on Dragon back. Targaryens died on their dragons, it happened dozens of times throughout history. Jon doesn’t let the thought fully take root, not yet. It’s wicked, sinister. Yett he knows that as much as Cersei needs to be disposed of, Daenerys cannot be allowed near that hunk of Iron. 

So instead of thinking what is ahead he lets Sansa cloud his thoughts. A reprieve from the stress. She had been right about it all of course, she always had been. About Cersei and about Daenerys. About their enemies at every turn. Even the Night King. She’d seen it all so clearly and Jon cannot help but feel that he failed her, letting her being taken like that. 

Jon opens his eyes again and the room is still dark. He squints at the one dying candle. It flickers red hot, the flame almost like soft tendrils of hair. And Jon knows. He knows that he is willing to do whatever it takes to see that hair again, even if he has to die to get there. Because Sansa, Sansa is pure, the snows of Winterfell and the feeling of home. She is everything he never allowed himself to dream of, the epitome of what he thought he could never deserve. But maybe, maybe if he did this one thing, maybe if he saved them all he could deserve her.

Jon walks to the door and as he swings it open he starts to think. He thinks about what Sansa would say to him now, about what her plan would be. And before him, Jon starts to see their future come to life. 

* * *

It goes better than Arya could have dreamed and she has to admit that it is all thanks to The Hound. His knowledge of the city proved to be something they couldn’t do without. Arya’s stealth and Gendry’s easy-to-trust face had helped them through any awkward situations once they were inside the city’s walls. 

Arya had felt kind of queasy, at being back in this place. The place where her father’s ghost seemed to hang so heavy. But she tried to ignore it and focus on the job at hand. The Hound had gotten them back into the castle quick enough and in the dungeons they had finalized their plan. The Hound planned to stay out of sight as long as possible. Gendry would disguise himself as one of the lower level guards, a lackey that Arya would feel comfortable using while the Hound lurked until they had the Mountain where they needed him. 

That left Qyburn. It had been a bit tricky, the Hound hadn’t been in the castle when Qyburn was made Hand, but based on what they knew of the man there had been suspicions to where he spent his time. A dungeon laboratory as they suspected. She’d gone in alone. 

It had been quick, nearly bloodless. A quick slip of her blade. She’d merely heard him say  _ Your Grace?  _ He’d assumed it was Cersei and hadn’t even turned around. He’d never seen her face. But now Arya donned his. One full day had passed since Daenerys killed Tyrion. Arya knew they were running out of time, it was early morning now and Daenerys had until tonight to surrender. Arya didn’t know how long Cersei would wait. But they had to get this done before the attack came. So she slides into Qyburn’s face and pushes his body to a dark corner of the room, it is all she can do.

She opens the door and steps into the hallway, she is still adjusting to Qyburn’s body, his height and gait. She feels slightly unsteady. 

She feels them look at her, both of them were disbelieving, though in different ways. The Hound looked proud, impressed, a bit awed. Gendry looked as if he was going to be sick on the stone in front of him. 

She’d made it clear what she intended to do but she hadn’t known if Gendry fully realized the extent. They hadn’t talked privately, not with The Hound with them at every turn but she recalls her conversation with him before they’d taken off, after she’d told him everything. 

_ “You have to let me come with you,” Gendry said, too confidently. _

_ “Gendry, I can’t–” Arya started, ready with a thousand rebuttals.  _

_ “I love you Arya, I won’t lose you. Not like this.” _

The words had silenced her and then everyone had been back, she’d had no choice to let him come. She still hadn’t gotten a chance to respond.

Gendry’s voice pulls her back, he’s still looking at her new face. 

“Arya… are you?” Gendry trailed off, his face turning a shade of green that worried Arya.

“Yes, of course it’s me. We don’t have time. We need to find Cersei and be off. We don’t know when Daenerys will strike.”

Her tone, while in Qyburn’s voice, seemed to put Gendry at ease and some colour returned to his face. 

“I’ll find a place near the throne room. It only makes sense that it is where Cersei will be, get the Mountain there and then as we discussed.”

The Hound says it quickly and then he is disappearing down the shadowy corridor. Arya is alone with Gendry and she doesn’t want to waste time with the million questions she can see on his face. They’ll have time to talk later. So she takes off at a steady pace of her own and waits for him to follow. 

They start up the stairs, her as Qyburn and Gendry dressed in a guards uniform, when the door in front of them opens. It’s a young woman, a maid by the looks of it and her eyes bulge when she looks at Qyburn, she doesn’t even notice Gendry. 

“My apologies My Lord. I was just sent to fetch you by the Queen. Queen Cersei wishes to speak with you at once, she’s in the throne room.”

Perfect, Arya thinks with a thank you to her lucky stars. She knew where the throne room was, she could get there easily enough.

“Thank you,” Arya says, in Qyburn’s gravely voice and she walks past the fearful maid with Gendry close beside her. 

In the halls of the castle proper Arya doesn’t speak to Gendry, she fears that someone could appear at any movement. They run into a few people, servants and a few guards. Many of them incline their head to Qyburn, sometimes she does the same. Soon enough she is at the doors to the Throne Room. She takes one steadying breath before she reaches for the handle.

In the centre of the room, she’s there. And Arya has to work to push down years of hatred, resentment and dreams of revenge. Has to stop her feet from propelling her forward, to lunging toward her. 

Cersei Lannister.

She looks as regal as ever, but her edges seem harder as if she is cut, jagged and sharp to the touch. Her hair is short but it seems to only make her more powerful. She doesn’t need anything to hide behind. And her clothes are all black, fitting Arya thinks, for her grim demeanour. 

She’s so absorbed with Cersei that she hardly notices the other person beside her. He towers over Cersei’s short frame. A helmet covers his whole face and he is massive. The Mountain. Arya knows it instantly. 

“Ah, finally Qyburn. I just sent for you but you must have passed my messenger in the hall. Take the Mountain and fetch the girls. Daenerys’ time is dwindling and I want them on hand if anything is to happen,” Cersei speaks and it shocks Arya, she feels rooted to the spot. 

She was clearly unprepared for being reacquainted with this woman. Her voice makes her want to run and hide or lunge forward for the kill. But she pulls herself together before she can take note of her odd behaviour. 

“Of course, Your Grace. Let’s go,” Arya says and she’s pleased that her voice comes out so steady. She looks to The Mountain who doesn’t acknowledge her. 

Cersei turns to The Mountain instead. 

“Sansa and Missandei, bring them to me.”

The Mountain seems to understand then and he starts to walk towards where her and Gendry stand. Cersei didn’t seem to notice Gendry at all until this point but then she speaks once more just as The Mountain reaches them. 

“Still keeping guards on you Qyburn? I told you we are safe in the castle, leave this one with me. He can man the door with the other there while you take The Mountain.”

Arya feels relief at Cersei’s lack of suspicion but dread at splitting up from Gendry. She glances at Gendry, the briefest of looks and sees resolve in his eyes so she takes her strength from him. She nods once at Cersei but as she does she notices her stare at Gendry, who is now retreating to the door with the only other guard in the room. Something flashes in Cersei’s eyes but Arya watches as she gives her head a shake. 

_ She must have thought she saw a young Robert.  _ Arya thinks, and hopes that Cersei dismisses the idea quickly. Gendry wears a helmet, one to obscure a lot of his face, but not to hide it entirely. If she pays him no more mind they should be fine. 

Arya retreated with The Mountain and she cannot even spare Gendry one final glance for fear of drawing attention to him again. The door booms closed behind them and she is alone with The Mountain. 

“Lead the way,” Arya says and The Mountain turns from her. 

She follows, and her blood starts to pump. She is on her way to Sansa. She will be seeing Sansa in a matter of minutes.

* * *

Sansa woke with a deep sense of dread this morning. She knew it was the last day and they’d had no news. It seemed that Jon and Daenerys were likely locked in a stalemate over what to do, and it might very well cost them their lives. Though she knew she wasn’t long to live anyways. Cersei’s promise of death had never been far from her mind. She doubted that she would ever leave this castle, that Cersei would let her, even with a full surrender. And if she did, well there was Daenerys to deal with then.

The hours passed slowly and then all at once. Cersei had maids sent to bathe and dress both her and Missandei. It was strange, this Southern finery. She felt like that little girl all over again. But part of her felt more like Margaery Tyrell, so put together, so battle ready and quick like a whip. She would remember her long lost friend today, no matter what happened. And she thought if she tried hard enough she could find some of that strength here, in the walls they had once both inhabited. 

Her and Missandei had spent much of last night speaking, just telling each other anecdotes from their lives, not talking about their morning and they’d fallen asleep in a heap eventually like Sansa had done with Jeyne Poole in her youth. If it was her last night on Earth she wasn’t sure it was an awful way to spend it. With, at the very least, a friend. 

Now they wait. They sit apart, one on each chair. 

“I never felt like this with Daenerys,” Missandei says and it takes Sansa a few moments to realize that she has spoken. 

She turns her head and finds Missandei’s kind brown eyes, she is smiling sadly. 

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

Missandei shakes her head. 

“I always felt that I served her. I thought we were friends, but that wasn’t friendship. Maybe in some ways. But I have shared more with you than I ever have with her and if we make it through all of this, well I’m not sure what the other side will look like.”

The words give Sansa goosebumps and she feels the prick of tears in her eyes so she looks away. The last few weeks had been transformative. They had shared something that changed them both and they were closer than Sansa had ever once thought they would be.

“It’s been a long time since I had a friend. I’ll warn you though Missandei, most all my friends have wound up dead. Ghostly names on the wind, living only in my heart,” Sansa says and her voice breaks on the last few words. 

Missandei reaches across the table and takes her hand. 

“It’s not such a bad place to stay, I wouldn’t think. It is a kind heart Sansa,” Missandei squeezes her hand. 

They’re interrupted by a firm knock on the door and Sansa jumps up at once. Even on this last day she cannot shake the sense of duty engrained in her, so deep it has become a part of her as much as her red hair is, she’ll go to the grave with it. 

She’s across the room in a few seconds and feels Missandei just behind her. This must be it, one way or another. 

She opens the doors and gulps. It’s The Mountain. He looms over them. He doesn’t speak but then she sees in his shadow that it is Qyburn. He seems almost surprised to see Sansa though she cannot imagine why, he stares piercingly at her, his eyes bugging out. It unnerves her and she wonders if for a few seconds about the care he provided her. Did he  _ do  _ something, some strange experiment? Gods she hopes not. She looks away from him just as he speaks. 

“We must go, the Queen awaits us.”

His voice seems… off. And Sansa changes her theory, maybe he is just unwell. He is not young, he may be sick. Then his words sink in and Sansa feels her stomach drop. She looks to Missandei on some sort of instinct that she isn’t even aware of and they lock eyes. They are going to face this together and so Sansa straightens her spine and she walks shoulder to shoulder out of the room with Missandei. The Mountain walks ahead of them and Qyburn falls in line behind them. She hears the door shut behind them and any comfort that room brought them fades as they get further and further from it. 

She can feel Qyburn’s eyes on her back and she has to force herself not to ask him what the hell he is doing. But then Qyburn himself speaks. 

“Someone once told me, years ago, that it is better for us to stick together in times of distress than to head off alone. Wouldn’t you agree Lady Stark?”

Qyburn is an odd man, it is not the first time he has said something strange. Sansa has always thought he was a bit not right in his mind, but his words don’t make sense. The Mountain ignores them, and Missandei looks between them in confusion. Sansa stutters on her response. 

“I would think so, yes, my Lord.”

She glances back and Qyburn seems to be trying to tell her something. 

“I’d heard that the Starks held something of the sort close to their hearts,  _ The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. _ ”

Something in his voice hits Sansa’s gut, a jolt goes through her and she cannot figure out what has overcome Qyburn today, where he got those words, why he is choosing them now. 

It’s silent for several minutes as they continue to walk but she feels Missandei trying to catch her eye. She looks only to the ground though until they reach the throne room. The doors open and they step inside. Cersei is there, not on the throne mind you, she seems to have been pacing and looking to the windows. 

“The Dragon Queen has brought her armies to our wall so I guess that makes the decision clear enough. They have decided your lives are forfeit!” The malice in Cersei’s voice ricochets throughout the hall and her eyes gleam mean. 

Sansa grabs Missandei’s arm but doesn’t speak. She swears she can feel Qyburn stiffen minutely beside her. 

She takes a second to glance around the room. It is just the four of them and Cersei. Or so she thinks at first. There are two guards on the other side of the door which they just came through. 

“Your Grace, please, we shouldn’t be rash with this. Daenerys has until the end of–” Qyburn is stepping forward and trying to reason with Cersei but he is cut off. 

“We have no  _ time  _ Qyburn. She has her dragons, if we delay…”

Sansa doesn’t hear the rest because she is still looking at the guards. One is sandy blonde, insignificant. But the other. The other, she is almost certain, is Gendry. Something twists in her chest, her heart starts to pound fast. If only he would look her way. And then he does. His face is out of the shadow and his eyes find her and she knows. 

She averts her gaze quickly but Cersei isn’t looking at her. She is arguing with Qyburn, who is adamantly trying to defend herself and Missandei, and for no reason. The Mountain hovers behind Cersei, awaiting command.

And it only takes a second, a second for Sansa to see it all at once. Something glints at Qyburn's hip and she almost grins. 

_ The lone wolf dies but the pack survives.  _

Arya. Her game of faces. The strange behaviour, cryptic words. Every nerve in Sansa’s body comes alive. They have a chance, a slim chance still but, a chance all the same. 

Several things happen at once. First, Cersei’s arguing with Qyburn reaches its peak. 

“Qyburn! Do not forget your place, you are here under  _ my  _ goodwill. I will not tolerate this disobedience.”

And then there is a great roar and Sansa thinks the sky is falling. There’s a torrent of bright light and the ceiling, the ceiling is on fire.  _ Dragons.  _ Sansa knows Daenerys has come. 

A beat of silence. A cacophony of noises.

Cersei screams, blood curdling and petrified. She nearly leaps into the shadow of The Mountain and starts hollering commands. Sansa realizes one second before Missandei. 

“ _ Move! _ ” Sansa shrieks as she runs out of the Mountain’s reach while Missandei is struck, falling hard on the ground. The Mountain continues on his path to Missandei. When another figure collides with him. 

Sansa shakes her head, trying to right her vision. Because impossibly it is The Hound. She doesn’t hesitate, she runs to Missandei and pulls her out of harm's way. 

“Are you okay?” Sansa’s voice shakes slightly but Missandei seems largely unscathed. Shaken up of course but safe. She pulls her to the far side as the ceiling starts to fall and the room is starting to go up in flames. 

“What’s happening, I don’t understand!” Missandei yells over the sudden onslaught of noise. 

“Arya! It’s Arya, not Qyburn!” Sansa cannot keep the pride out of her voice but she can’t say much more before their attention is drawn back to the fight. 

The Mountain is overtaking the Hound and Sansa’s stomach turns. To the left of them she sees Gendry. He is fighting the other guard by the door and in the middle of it all is Arya, Arya still in Qyburn’s body. She watches her sister, she has to tell herself that’s who it is, turn to Cersei and then seemingly resign herself to helping The Hound. She throws herself into the fight. 

And then Sansa looks at Cersei. She is horrorstuck. But Sansa knows it won’t last long. Cersei is a survivor. They have thirty seconds at most. She suspects this had been Arya’s job, but it seems she was needed elsewhere. Sansa sees the answer at her feet. 

Somehow, from somewhere, there is a dagger. It looks like one of Arya’s, it shines twenty feet in front of her, halfway to Cersei, who still stands unaware of her surroundings, staring at the ceiling and the fire descending on them all. Sansa moves without a fully formed plan. 

“Stay here!” She shouts at Missandei and doesn’t wait to see if she listens. 

She races, as quickly as she can, to the dagger. She bends down, and picks it up. She grips it tightly. It feels wrong in her hand. This will never be her. But it has to be, for the next few moments she has to be brave.  _ Brave like Robb.  _ She remembers the mantra she had told herself ages ago in King’s Landing. Her feet propel her to her target. 

She thinks of her father. Of his blade, Ice swinging out a death sentence. She thinks of her Mother, dead by Lannister hands. She thinks, of course, of Robb. Setting off to battle a King, too young to know what was to come. She thinks of Bran, his broken dreams of being a Kingsguard. She thinks of Arya, how it should be her doing this, how she has trained for it for years. She thinks of Rickon, bleeding out on a battlefield.

She thinks of Jon. The scars she knows lace his chest, the one right below his heart, the killing blow. She thinks of his embrace. His lips. She remembers him pummeling Ramsay. And she finds she knows what she is doing, just as she collides with Cersei. 

She sees, the moment before it happens, the shock on Cersei’s face, she had snapped back to reality. But it was too late. The blade finds its mark and they are stumbling to the ground. Cersei’s face permanently shocked. 

Sansa wouldn’t let her grip on the dagger loosen. 

_ Stick them with the pointy end.  _ And she had. She had. 

The blood gushes out of her in puddles it seems. It seems as if it is everywhere. Sansa’s dress is slick, her hands drip. And Cersei only stares, her breath is rasping. 

Sansa finally lets the blade go and Cersei falls back to the ground. Sansa is still on top of her, pinning her to the ground as she bleeds out. Her hands are shaking, it's her first realization once she sees all the blood. 

She hears the battle behind her but it must be over because when a shadow comes behind her and she turns, it’s Arya. Not Arya with Qyburn’s face but Arya, her sister. 

She turns back to Cersei who looks between them, the Stark sisters. A dawning realization seems to wash over her. And in her final breath she laughs. 

“Well played Little Dove, well played.”

Around them, the world burns. 

**Author's Note:**

> I have had so so much going on in my personal life that I don't want to bore you with here but basically it has made it very discouraging to do anything let alone find time to write. But I am finally starting to get back on my feet again and I am really committed to finishing this series. It has always been a s8 AU exploration, until this part there has been one part per episode. I always planned to split ep 5 into 2 parts. So after this there will be three more parts...second part of episode 5, episode 6 and then an epilogue (because d&d robbed us of that...) I have a loose outline and kinda feel like I finally know where I'm going with this. I had to reread the entire thing before writing this part hahaha. 
> 
> I just wanted to say a huge thank you to all my readers and to everyone who comments, it really brightens my day and I am always excited to get an email from ao3...it just amazes me how much people care about what I write <3
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this part, I can't promise when the next one will be out but know that it will be coming (although I am back at university...so lol). thanks again!
> 
> i also am close to finishing and posting an unrelated Jonsa oneshot, one that I am really proud of...so that will hopefully be not too far away!


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